Front Row And Center
by Yoyoboyo Inc
Summary: [Mafia AU] Conan is drunk, dolled up in a pretty cocktail dress, and hitting on every other guy in the bar. Kid doesn't like it. [Warning: Crossdressing]
1. Chapter 1

AN: So this is an AU inspired by a short KidCon comic we saw online. Conan is a crossdressing recon agent (probably around age 15 or so) and Kid is a member of his rival organization (age 25). Every fandom needs mafia AU's. Yes. :)

**Warnings: cross-dressing!Conan, language, sexual themes, underage**

**RATINGS WILL CHANGE NEXT CHAPTER: (look forward to) interrogation with knife, with sex, and bribery**

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.

There's a little lady quite the center of attention in the hotel bar tonight.

"Oh, poo, I'm out of alcohol." She waves at the bartender with a lilting giggle. "Another one please?"

She's slim and petite in her lacy backless dress dipping down to her waist, with a face Kid recognizes the moment he sees her.

_Him._

Kid frowns into his wine glass, throwing a half-glance at the growing stack of empty shot glasses around Edogawa.

_What the hell is tantei-kun doing here?_

Edogawa's quite wasted for the night, his pretty ponytailed head lolling a touch too close to the men around him, balding and beer-bellied beneath the sleek Esquire suits.

"She's hot." Ito leans forward, hiding a smile behind his glass. "Interested?"

Kid shifts from the sill of his chair and looks at the low-cut dress. "Maybe."

There's roaring laughter at the bar table, and a balding man drifts his calloused fingers a little far into the space between Edogawa's collar bones.

And tantei-kun just _laughs_ on his stool with a slight shimmer of sparkling earrings.

"I'd tell you to go buy her a drink but," says Ito with a shrug, "she looks quite done in, if she thinks molestation is funny."

"Hmph," Kid snorts, knuckles turning white around the neck of his wine glass.

Edogawa Conan, code name Agent Kirsche.

Red Org's deadliest reconnaissance agent— Kid lovingly nicknamed_ tantei-kun_— with eyes everywhere and a kick like a mother. You don't touch him where he doesn't like and get away unscathed.

When he's sober, that is.

He's a rather—_friendly_ drunk, Kid is learning.

Another man leans into Conan's neck, knobby fingers trailing down, past the lace collar, along the curve of his breasts and down his waist, hips, and stopping short at the slit of fabric on his thigh—

Kid slams his glass onto the table.

Conan slaps away the hand with a quirk of his cherry glossed lips, and takes another swig from his glass. Another bastard tugs at tantei-kun's wrist, whispering things into his ears and coaxing him off his stool.

A shot of anger shoots down Kid's spine when Conan just laughs, again— no kick, or punch, or a splat of drink against the man's face—and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

God damn it.

Kid shoves his chair back with a thud, heavy on the soles of his feet. That's quite enough for a show. He leaves his drink on the table.

"I'll be right back."

The wine sloshes in the glass.

.

* * *

.

The men are quite sad to let Edogawa go, and that's too bad.

It's disgusting—tantei-kun is not even _half_ their age.

"Is this another mission of yours?" Kid mutters, mouth dry, and tugs his jacket sleeve off. "Or are you trying to get groped?"

Edogawa looks up, eyes fixed somewhere behind Kid's shoulders, and then back at him.

"Hi, Kid," he hums, just to his side, and presses his nose into Kid's dress shirt. "You look nice today."

There's a hot breath against Kid's chest, and Kid shifts on the soles of his shoes.

"You're kidding me," he says, pulling tantei-kun away by the shoulder. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Conan blinks up at him, thumbing the seam of Kid's white vest with manicured fingers. (Fingernails painted a hot raspberry pink—)

"Oh. Are you on a mission?" He sounds disappointed, a downcast tension lingering at the corner of his lips. "I was just having fun."

Kid sucks in a breath, conscious of the fingers ghosting along his stomach and the milk thigh pressed soft and delicate against his knee.

Shit.

He likes it and he doesn't at once, because— has tantei-kun been doing this to _every man_ he saw in the bar?

"I'm on a break with a friend." Kid says, voice edgy, and pulls Conan closer, winding the jacket sleeves around the curve of Conan's neck.

The music thrums in a rhythmic beat around them.

"And that's twice I saved your ass, tantei-kun." Kid says with a half-smirk hovering above Conan's ear. "I'm keeping count."

He expects a glare, a shove, anything—but there's silence after that, as Conan considers his stiletto heels and the shined floor beneath them; as Kid (subtly) watches the rise and fall of Conan's chest and the soft freckles showing where his dress meets his shoulders.

"It's frustrating," Conan tells him suddenly, fingers brushing against Kid's jacket pooled around him, "how fast you get used to wearing these things, you know?"

"Oh?" Kid can hear the rustle of tight fabric—_shhhh_—and lets his eyes wander, for a split second, to the soft satin stretched around Conan's hips.

"And I was just—" Conan trails off, and twists around Kid's elbows to breathe damp spots into his dress shirt. "—looking for someone who can appreciate it."

Suddenly, there's a finger tracing the leather on his belt, and Kid's mind sputters to a halt when it dips low to skirt along the seam of his zipper.

Oh, fuck.

(Edogawa is so _wasted—vulnerable_, he thinks, and wants to kick himself. _Once in a lifetime opportunity_.)

"You're making it hard for me to be a gentleman, tantei-kun," Kid breathes with a half-grin, leaning into the curve of Conan's shoulders, fingers scraping against the clasp of a sterling silver necklace.

Conan laughs into his wrist. "Gentleman? You?"

"Well—" Kid thinks to be offended, but then again— "Yes, all right, you got me."

He cracks a smile and looks down at Conan's glossy lips and wants to tease them apart with his tongue and his fingers and—

"Room 1412. How predictable."

Conan holds up a card between his index and middle, and taps it against Kid's nose with a low purr.

"Well, yes, I do like some consistency in my life," Kid whispers, and plucks the card out of Conan's fingers with his pulse running bullets in his veins.

Hell, when did Edogawa snatch that?

Either he's let his guard down too much— but that's not possible. That, or Edogawa's reflexes are as sharp as ever, even drunk out of his mind.

Drunk, but not vulnerable. You can't take advantage of someone like _Agent Kirsche_.

—is what he tells himself as he cradles Conan's wrist. "Care for a visit?"

"Hm, maybe," Conan leans in with a hum, eyes half-lidded, and drags his fingers along the edge of Kid's tie. "Care to show me the way?"

"Of course," Kid grins.

(In his head, he's ushering Edogawa out of there and hailing a cab for him to head home and holing up in his hotel room, hot and bothered but clean.)

Ito gives him a thumbs up from their table, and Kid pretends he doesn't see.

.

* * *

.

Kid barely closes the door behind him when Conan crumples against him, cheeks red and breath hot, fingers fumbling down the buttons on his dress shirt.

(His jacket tumbles to the floor, forgotten.)

"Kid, I—" Conan breathes, brows meeting in the middle. "I feel hot."

"Do you now?" Kid grins, pulling him up by his chin. He leans down to slip his tongue between Conan's lips, hand trailing along the bare spine and lower.

Conan gasps and goes limp, breath hot and raw.

"Wait, wait, I need—" He lets out a whine from the back of his throat, and Kid swallows the sound and backs Conan up against the wall to trace the low cut of the dress with his fingers.

"Red Org should find less a revealing dress for you," says Kid, frowning against the dimple on the left corner of Conan's mouth.

"What I need," Conan says, breathy and flushed red, "is a drink. I'm thirsty."

He pushes against Kid's chest, as if he expects Kid to _let go_, just like that.

"Ah, ah, ah," Kid hums, low against the space between Conan's frown and his jaw. "Gotta ask nicely. How about a please?"

Conan glares for the first time that night, and Kid shivers under dark flannel slacks. "You're a terrible host."

"My room, my rules," says Kid with a shrug, and digs his fingers against Conan's hips. "Now let's hear what you have to say."

Conan goes still, for a moment, before he leans into Kid's shoulders with a breathy sigh.

"Please, Kid?"

Kid's lips crack into a half-smirk. "There we go."

Conan glares.

.

* * *

.

"How's the taste?"

"Fresh." Conan crosses his legs on the armchair, lips lingering on the rim of the tall glass.

Kid leans in with a smirk, chasing the satin seam below Conan's shoulder blades with a finger. "Happy now?"

"Mhm." Conan takes another sip and pulls him close enough to share the same air between their noses.

Kid's breathing turns red and raw as his long fingers make quick work down the zipper at the back of his dress.

"Tantei-kun," he says, low and flutey, thinking of wet mouth and pale skin turning red against the dark lace—

And there are lips on him all of a sudden, soft and smelling of sweet wine, and Kid finds himself melting against the shy tongue tracing the roof of his mouth, and then—

A warm stream of liquid slides down the back of his throat, and Kid almost chokes on his breath.

"Good night," Conan says, wiping Kid's brows with cold fingers, and Kid's world fades to black.

.

* * *

AN: We hope you've enjoyed the first segment to this two-shot piece! If you like it, please tell us so we know to continue it! :)

**-Yoyoboyo Inc. **


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hi. Thank you to everyone who commented! There were some difficulties writing this chapter, but we managed to smooth it out! Yay! :D

We didn't mention this before, but the idea where this originally came from had _Cherry _as Conan's codename.

We liked the idea but decided to change it up because _Cherry_ seemed a bit… yeah, so _Kirsche _is cherry in German. Take off the _e_ and it becomes _Kirsch_, a type of cherry drink.

**Warnings: interrogation with a knife, with sex, and bribery. **

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* * *

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"_Report on the target, Agent Kirsche."_

"Not my intended hit. He's unconscious, but not for long," Conan says into the small microphone pinched between his fingers, picking up a thin blade from the table. "Room 1412. An hour…at least."

Conan steps closer to the bed, knife tracing the cold metal around Kid's wrists.

"Keep an eye on the friend of his. He might suspect something—"

Kid groans and shakes his head—

"—or not." Conan says with a tiny smile. "Be on standby."

He drops the mic and knife onto the table just as Kid started to stir.

Kuroba Kaito. Business name— Kid, _Agent Daiquiri_. Occupation: thief and assassin for the White Org.

And this isn't the first time Conan has had him drugged and chained to a bed.

Kid blinks, bleary, and tries to stretch, frowning when it doesn't work. "The hell—"

"Caught— hook, line and sinker," Conan sighs, fingers circling Kid's knee before sliding up and closer, "You're actually quite stupid when your mind is in your pants."

Kid lifts his eyes and smiles, taut and thin. "Excellent acting."

"Of course."

Conan doesn't miss the way Kid shivers when his finger flutters just a bit too close to his belt. He smiles, leans close, breath hot against Kid's mouth. "Anything to finish the job."

Kid's lips quirk. "And if I may ask, what job had you surround yourself with men?"

"I'm looking for the passcode." Conan weaves his fingers into Kid's hair, knees sliding around him and into the mattress. Kid's fingers twitch above his head. "To the file. Intel tells us that only _privileged _members know it."

"Ah? The file that you stole from us a month ago? I remember it," Kid mouths against his lips. His breath is minty with a hint of alcohol. "—Faintly."

Conan presses a kiss to his neck, tasting the quickening pulse in his throat. He breathes into the shell of Kid's ear— "I'd use a drug to help with your memory, but I think I'm— good enough?"

He releases Kid's hair and lets his fingers drift against the nape of his neck. Conan feels the skin burning under his touch— _cute_, Kid's blushing.

Kid laughs in his ear, low and breathy— "You give yourself too much credit, tantei-kun."

Conan pauses and pulls away, a carefully crafted pout on his lips.

"Oh, do I?" He raises a knee and straddles Kid fully; Kid's eyes flicker to the white thigh Conan pressed into his side.

"Yes, you do. You're not going anywhere with this," Kid says through gritted teeth, and Conan wants to laugh because really, who is he fooling?

"Maybe I'm not trying hard enough?" Conan whispers and he's careful to slide his hands feather light against Kid's shoulders.

Eyes locked with Kid's, Conan peels apart the buttons of his vest, one by one—

"Are you stripping me?" He asks, amused. Conan pushes away his vest and works on his dress shirt.

"Hm, no. Checking for a weapon." He circles the last button and allows his fingers to drift down to pull at his belt. "_Unarmed_. What kind of agent are you?"

Kid smiles. "Guns are for operations, not for night outs at the bar. I don't mix business with pleasure."

Conan lets the corner of his mouth twitch up.

"And it'll be your downfall," Conan says, and leans in just a touch too close into the curve of his neck, conscious of the way Kid tenses up.

"Is that so?" Kid says, breathy.

"Adult hormones are too easy to manipulate."

Kid stiffens when Conan fingers the bulge tenting in his slacks. There's the faintest crease in Kid's brow and Conan runs the pad of his finger down and under.

Conan purrs, "I wonder how long you can keep that annoying smirk on your face, before you start begging to touch me."

Kid arches his brow, breath short. "Try me."

He says that but he's straining to lean closer to Conan's touch. Conan smiles into his neck.

"Well—" Conan sighs under his breath and withdraws, stepping back from the bed and onto his stilettoes. "— I suppose we can always play the waiting game. If that's what you really want."

Kid is staring holes at the wall behind Conan, his fingers twitching only the slightest when Conan turns on his heels.

Conan tugs at his wig and drops it onto the velvet armchair. He loosens his hair with a quick shake of his head.

"Sooner or later, I'll force it out of you."

Kid becomes quiet.

"Interesting choice of wine— _Visciolata del Cardinale_," Conan says, airy, stepping around the small table. He curls his fingers around the neck of the dark bottle and considers the label.

…Oh.

He blinks twice and then smiles, face warming.

"_Cherry_. How sentimental of you."

"They're quite intoxicating," Kid remarks, watching Conan pour himself a drink into a wine glass and setting the bottle back into a bucket of crushed ice.

"Hm, so they are." Conan sips it, relishing the cool liquid on his tongue. Sweet and fresh— he licks his lips, smearing the gloss across his lower lip.

The corner of Kid's cheeks are dusted red.

Conan's lips quirk into a smile on the rim of the glass.

He has him won—

— but he won't talk, not yet.

"Fancy a drink?"

"To slip a truth serum in, perhaps?" Kid half-smiles. Conan steps closer, heels studding the floor with sharp clacks.

A quick jerk of a hand and the wine sloshes over Kid.

Conan pins the glass back onto the table, satisfied with the dark stain seeping through Kid's shirt and the flicker of a scowl on his lips. "No, I thought you might be thirsty."

"That's very considerate of you," Kid grins, licking his lips. "And a waste of good wine."

"It's never a waste of good wine," he says, scraping a manicured nail down the side of Kid's jaw. He tips his chin and leans close, tongue tracing the corner of his mouth and catching the taste of spilled wine.

"You're trying so hard not to be turned on—" Conan fondles the bulge and feels moisture seeping through the seams of Kid's zipper. "— that it's almost cute."

Kid's breath staggers and there's a feeble laugh. "Me?"

Conan kisses him and coaxes a strangled groan from Kid's throat— "Admit it. You're hard, you _want _me."

A beat passes—

"All right, I want you. There, I admitted it—" Kid says, angling his head to dot kisses along Conan's jaw—

Conan drifts back a little; Kid growls through his smile.

"Ah, _ah—_" He drags fingers down the skin of Kid's chest, spreading the small beads of wine. "The passcode first, _then _you'll have your reward."

"Can I get a sneak peek of this—" Kid's smile is strained as Conan presses nails around the clothed erection. "—reward?"

Conan scoffs.

"Cheeky bastard."

Conan kisses him and inhales light musk and mint; he pushes Kid back against the headboard as he dips his tongue through his lips.

He straddles him, hips pressing down, hot and suffocating.

"And here I was hoping that I could have interrogated someone different," Conan breathes, sitting up, fingers skirting between his collarbones and dipping past his lacey collar. "I'm just wasting my time on you."

"I was under the impression you like that sort of thing."

Conan tugs and his breast paddings follow, pinched between his fingers. His dress slackens.

"Don't be cocky. If your friend was here instead of you, I'd be gone already." Conan tosses them to the side of the bed. "He was giving lewd looks across the bar. I'm sure he would've given the passcode ages ago."

Kid quirks a smile, eyes locking on Conan's face— or trying to because he (subtly) glances at the gap between the dress and Conan's chest.

"You were targeting Ito?"

"And that nice gentleman you drove away too," Conan says, fingers hooking into his stiletto's strap. "I expected one of your dumber associates to fall for it, but _you_? I put on a dress and catch the only idiot who knows it's me."

Kid doesn't even look offended. "There was a little damsel drunk out of his mind, what else would I do?"

Conan dangles his heels over the edge of the bed and lets go. "You're the last person I ever want to interrogate."

"Thank you," Kid's eyes drift to the loose spaghetti straps sliding off Conan's shoulder. He breathes slow and steady, grin still in place. "I'll make sure I'm the only one."

Conan tilts his head and his earrings jingle. With a flick of his wrist, he has the blade resting in his palm. "Either way, I need the passcode from you."

"And I was just enjoying the strip show—" Kid's breath catches when Conan pushes the flat of the knife against his collarbone.

"Passcode—" Conan says. He shifts his hips and Kid chokes. The blade tip travels up Kid's throat, drawing light shapes. "Don't make me cut you."

He laughs, breathless. "Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you try to be threatening? It's cute and arousing—"

"Shut up." The blade sits on his adam's apple and Conan watches him swallow. He nudges the edge a bit closer and nicks a thin red line.

Nervous laughter pushes past Kid's lips—

"Okay, okay. _One_."

Conan drags the tip down along his chest. "One?"

"Obviously there's more than one digit," Kid says, careful to keep his expression relaxed— not that Conan's fooled. He's more than conscious of the hard erection he's grinding against.

"And the other numbers?"

"Do I get a kiss for that?" Kid smiles despite the red beading on his throat.

Conan glares. "The _other _numbers."

"A kiss. Just _one_, tantei-kun~"

_Insufferable idiot. _

Conan sighs and leans forward, breath mixing before he closes the gap, lips gentle and shy against Kid's.

A tongue traces his lower lip and Kid sucks—

"The other numbers?" Conan whispers and he has the knife edge scraping against Kid's neck.

Kid grins against his lips.

"Four."

"…And?"

Kid cranes his head a bit closer, lips brushing past Conan's cheek and against his ear. The handcuffs strain above his head. "One—"

"You're kidding me," Conan draws back enough to see Kid smirking. "…it's—"

Another clink.

"Two."

"_That's_ _it—_?"

Conan gasps when cold fingers tighten around his wrists and he's thrown onto his back.

The blade sinks into the mattress beside them—

"Ah—"

A knee is pushed between his legs and Conan winces at the hand pinning his wrists against the rails of the headboard.

"Consistency, my dear tantei-kun," Kid says, free hand fluttering down Conan's exposed side. "It's the last thing you would've thought for a code, hm?"

"You bastard—" He shivers at the cold hand drifting across his thigh and pushing his dress _up_. Kid's tongue flickers and traces the outline of Conan's lips. "S_top—"_

"It's hilarious that you thought you could handcuff a _thief._" A hand cups him between the legs just as cold metal clasps over his wrists. "I thought you would have learned your lesson by now."

Panic flares in his chest, Conan twists and the cuffs cut into his skin. He lifts a knee up to kick— "You bastard—!"

Kid catches his leg and eases it back down.

"I'm just collecting my reward, tantei-kun. I won't do anything else," Kid licks the skin on his neck, breathing damp spots against his ear. Conan shudders, eyes sliding shut, and there's that _spark_ melting him inside. "Stay still—"

Kid kisses him, lips chapped and dry, tongue nudging through his teeth and running along the roof of his mouth—

"T-Twenty minutes," Conan gasps and breaks away, face hot and breath raw. He glares. "They'll be here."

"Your back-up?" Kid laughs and it's cold and loud in the hotel room. "That's fine. Twenty minutes is more than enough."

"Wait—" Conan shivers as Kid's fingers brushes _down_.

"Oh…? You're wearing—" Kid pulls away and Conan blinks, breath hot and aching in his throat. Kid traces the thin string along the side of Conan's upper thigh and down the curve and _between_. "— a _thong_?"

Conan flushes red, fists clenching and he wants to punch the smirk off Kid's face—

"Red supplied it. The dress," He can't think with Kid's fingers drifting along the inside of his thigh. "—was tight-fitting."

"And to think you were going to seduce the others like this." Kid toys with the straps of his dress, pulling it and sliding it down his shoulders. His breath ghosts to his collarbone. "It's disgusting. Tell your Org not to give you these things anymore."

And from the corner of his eye, Conan sees Kid curl his fingers around the forgotten blade and—

"Wait, that's not—" Conan freezes when the tip skates up his skin and meets the stretch of cloth around his thighs. He yanks at the handcuffs above his head. "Kid— You _can't,_ this isn't mine_—_"

Kid leans forward, twists the knife and cuts cloth.

"I'll compensate. I'll buy you a nice white, long-sleeved cocktail dress, hm? Not backless, no plunging necklines, it'll be long and loose, _silk— _how does that sound?"

"That's—" Conan swallows a whimper as fingers brush aside the dress. Kid's hand sneaks between his legs, fingers rubbing against the underside of moistening cotton.

Conan breathes deeply and glares, "You want me to wear a bedsheet."

The knife makes a ragged cut up his side and stops at his hip.

"Well, I prefer you wearing what you're given," Kid whispers, fingers pushing the torn satin to the side. He slides the knife handle over his abdomen. "Just not at a bar and not acting like a vulnerable drunk."

Conan shuts his eyes, fingers clawing into the wood and rails of the headboard. "It's a job, I do what I have to."

He wears what the Org sends him and wears it well. His targets are usually more than twice his age with hands that grab and grope—

Kid presses a trail of kisses up along his jaw and the knife tip ghosts down between his collar bone. His dress is torn open— "I really rather you not."

— and Kid is usually quick to interfere.

Damn thief.

His dress is ruined, Conan thinks, mind foggy and hazed. Kid has that smirk on his face, and he tosses the thin knife aside.

"I'm a bit of a possessive bastard, you see," Kid says, licking his lips, as he strips away the scarlet satin.

Cold air meets Conan's chest and Kid leans down to swallow a wet moan.

"Just…" Conan's breath is broken and shallow. Red flares in his cheeks as he feels Kid's eyes roaming down his body. "…let me go, we don't have time for this— _nn_."

Conan twitches at the mouth sucking his nipple as heat thrums through his veins. Kid hooks a finger into the black elastic string on his hip and _drags_ it down and off.

"Let you go? Are you sure that's what you want?"

It's cold and hot at the same time _and—_

Kid just stops.

Conan blinks out of his haze to see Kid between his legs, slipping on his shirt— "W-Wait, what are you doing?"

"Well, you said to let go," Kid says and he's fixing the stained dress shirt on his shoulders.

There's that cheeky smirk on his face that Conan wants to bite off.

"I…" Conan glares to the side, face red. "…at least finish what you started, bastard."

Kid smirks.

"Of course, tantei-kun~" He snaps his finger and has a bottle of lube in his hand. He starts coating his fingers with the slippery aphrodisiac. "Never thought you'd ask."

"Kid—" Conan breath is shallow and erratic.

"Mm, I'll be quick." Kid leans forward. He hums against Conan's throat, "Though I think I should tell you— once the file is opened outside of our databases, it will just up and away—"

Conan's blood turns cold.

"_What the hell—?_" Something wet, and long eases pass the flimsy cloth and presses into him. Conan arches back, toes curling into the bed sheets, and the fever _spreads_. "Ah,_ ah_, _Kid—_"

"Relax, tantei-kun," Kid whispers against his forehead as his fingers prod and twist inside him, stretching against the tight resistance. Conan feels his skin tremble and prick at every word. "It'll be fast, won't even hurt, I promise."

A spike of pleasure throbs through him, and Conan flinches away, eyes wet— Kid perks up at a strangled whimper.

"Here?"

Conan jerks, breathless at the fingers in him, at the hand sliding blunt fingernails up and down his length—

"Kid—…_hurry up_ or I'll fucking kill you—"

"Yes, yes. Cute threat but," Kid says, peppering kisses along his face. He pulls his fingers out. "eight minutes left. Can't be caught sleeping with the enemy, got it."

Conan sighs and shuts his eyes— _1412,_ a passcode to a disappearing file. That _fucking bastard_, he'll kill him later— a stab to the shoulder would be nice actually.

Right now, Conan needs the fever to _go away._

Warm hands spread his thighs wider and something hot, thick, and covered with latex is pressing against where his fingers were— Conan's eyes flicker open.

"Tantei-kun," Kid says and his lips brush the side of Conan's knee. Kid's eyes are so blue and _blue— _"Ready?"

He wants to scoff at the gentle edge in his voice, maybe kick Kid in the face if he could. "Get in already," Conan hisses, mind numbing, body aching.

"Of course."

There's a grin and— a sudden thrust and throaty groan; Conan tenses with a choked cry trapped in his throat.

Hands stroke up and down his chest and— "Relax, yeah? It'll feel better, tantei-kun."

Conan breathes in broken whimpers and Kid starts moving.

_It's slow,_ Conan notices in the spinning mixture of pain and pleasure. He gasps, head falling back against the pillows.

_It's not enough. _

Large hands brace his hips and Kid's rocking against him with gentle, shallow thrusts like Conan's made of damn glass. Blue eyes watch Conan twitch as he empties small gasps into the air—

"K-Kid—"

Conan chokes in the stifling heat, wrists straining against the cold handcuffs. He's meeting each thrust and it's still not enough— "Kid, _move_, damn it_— nn—_"

He sees a wider grin and feels fingers digging into his hips, his skin turns red. Then Kid shifts, pulls back and _shoves— _Conan whimpers, choked and wet, at the tingle humming through his body, "Ah, _mm—_"

"Don't hold it in," Kid exhales, breath ragged and low. His fingers toy with a hardened nipple. "Let me hear you, tantei-kun."

_Shut up_, Conan thinks but his lips fall open, swollen with a sheen of saliva, and he lets out a string of gasps.

Suddenly, the friction between metal and wrist falls away. Conan finds himself stretching his arms and hooking them around Kid's neck, fingers twisting into his hair.

"Kid— please—" He breathes through his mouth, lips trembling. Conan claws at the back of Kid's neck as he feels himself getting _closer— _"I _want—_"

"Hmm?" Kid leans over him, nose barely touching, with a cocky quirk in his lips. "You _want_…what?"

Conan tugs him down and _bites_, teeth sinking into Kid's lower lip hard enough to draw a metallic tang.

Kid pushes him back into the pillows, tongue teasing his lips open and swallowing his moans. The fever pushes him to the edge.

Conan tenses, digs his fingernails into Kid's shoulders and comes, white spilling across his stomach—

"Ah—"

Conan falls limp, breath shaky in his lungs. In the fog of his release, Kid still has a firm grip on his hips, rhythm slowing.

Kid buries his face into the crook of Conan's shoulder, teeth bruising a patch of skin on his neck—

It's hot and suffocating and Conan shivers.

A few seconds pass and Kid moves, the warm thickness pulling out with a lethargic tug. Conan bites his lip to keep a sigh from escaping.

"…Well, that wasn't so bad," Kid smirks, lips wet and slightly bloody. He stands from the bed, pulling the clear latex off his length. "Fair trade, I'd say."

Conan inhales shakily and pins a glare on Kid's face— "Shut the hell up. You lied to me."

"I didn't. It's inadequate research on your part. Did you really think we'd let just anyone open the file?" Kid laughs and stoops low to kiss Conan on the cheek. "Top secret info needs to be deleted once it's out of our databases."

Conan contemplates on snagging the blade just a few inches away and slugging it at Kid's face—

"_Agent Kirsche? Status report? We have room 1412 surrounded. Ready to intercept the target—"_

…_fuck._

Conan shoots a glance at the earpiece he left on the table.

Eight minutes have become _one— _

Kid tilts his head at the static— a grin on his lips as he pulls on his clothes. "Oops. I guess I went over time limit—" A padded bra hits him square in the face.

"_Are you there, Agent?"_

"You have _two _seconds before I slit your throat—" Conan seethes, cheeks flushed red. He has the knife clenched under manicured fingers and he's itching to stab Kid in the chest.

He shifts— _hip fucking hurts_— and slides off the bed, knees shaky.

Kid lifts a brow and hums, "One—"

The remains of the red satin dress slide off his shoulders and pool in a heap around his feet—

"Two—" Kid whistles, eyes scanning up and down Conan's body before lingering on his neck.

Kid takes a few paces back towards the table, and snags the wine glass. He takes a delicate sip. "That's two seconds. Go ahead and try."

"_Agent Kirsche—?"_

Fucking Kid— he'll shut him up with a knife to the face. Conan takes a step forward—

— or not.

An arm catches him and his knife spins across the cold floor.

"I think there is something else you should worry about," Kid hums, arm wrapping around his side, fingers rubbing circles into his skin. "For example, your clothes."

"That you destroyed," Conan grumbles, gripping Kid's arm through his dress shirt.

"I said I'll compensate—"

There's a rustle of cloth behind him and something cool and white drifts over his shoulder. Kid pulls it tight around his neck with a smirk.

"—see? Bed sheets suit you. You should wear them more often."

Conan glares.

"Fuck you—"

Kid's tongue dips into his mouth and swallows his words. He runs a hand down his back, and gives the back of Conan's thigh a firm squeeze—

Conan gasps and leans into the kiss, knees weak and fingers tangling into the lapels of Kid's vest. Kid tastes like fresh wine, cherry sweet and rich— with a touch of _Visciolata del Cardinale _and _something else—_

A pill slides down his throat like silk.

Conan coughs, eyes watering. Kid has Conan's chin between his fingers and he smiles.

Fucking bastard, what the hell _was _that—?

"Kid, that…_"_ Conan's vision starts edging black and his grip on Kid's suit weakens.

"It's my turn now, tantei-kun~"

"_Agent Kirsche, we're coming in—!" _

A gunshot sounds to his left and darkness swallows him.

.

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AN: Thank you for reading!

Unfortunately, we do not have any future chapters planned for this particular story. If by chance we do, please continue to give us your support!

For now, take the time to read over what stories we have posted and keep an eye out on the M-rated section for more nsfw goodies! :D

**-Yoyoboyo Inc.**


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